I've been on vacation the last two weeks, so my mind hasn't exactly been in valet mode. I've been thinking like a normal* person, and that ain't conducive to this here blog.
* - Normal being relative of course, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I think of myself as a "normal" person who fits in decent society.
During said time off, though, I searched and searched for any and all writing from when I worked at a Swanky hotel in downtown San Francisco. I'm still looking, but all the partying and good times didn't erase too many memories. So, I'll write from memory because the most interesting stories from my life as a valet usually stem from the Swank.
Here we go:
At the Swank there were plenty of things to do. Plenty of nice cars to drive. Plenty of rich people to help. And if for some reason, there was nothing to do..... You could always bullshit with the doorman, a bellman, a limo driver, security guard, or fellow valet. And when you ran out of bullshit to tread, you could look at all the fine fine women walking by, into the hotel, or out of the hotel. Sorry if it sounds sexist, but this is what young men do when they have little in common or are bored to death. We look at girls.
Sorry, it's our default conversation.
"You like the new Jay-Z song?"
"No, I don't really like his style of rap."
"Oh."
"Right now, I'm really into old stuff like the Ramones and the Clash."
"Yeah, I don't know who they are."
"Well, what else you like?"
"Shit, that girl crossing the street. She's hot."
"Damn, you ain't kidding. Look at the way her butt has just enough wiggle, but no dimples."
I had some variation of this conversation multiple times a day for two years.
Anyway, you had to take in all the eye candy you could because there was a lot of ugliness out there where Union Square meets the Tenderloin. And no, I'm not talking about unattractive girls or even unattractive people in general. I'm talking about crackheads, homeless people shitting themselves, junkies begging for change, thieves looking to pick pockets or scam tourists. The type of stuff that can make your stomach turn if you aren't mentally prepared.
Even those of us who were just a hair less jaded than all the pushers in Tenderloin had to take a little time to enjoy a pretty face, an awesome rack, a perfectly shaped booty, or a hot girl covered in tattoos. You just never new what you were going to see next.
A gaggle of models checking in to the hotel one minute. And a crackhead tranny flashing the goods the next. Maybe a popular actress would ask you how to get to some fancy restaurant. And as you looked at her pretty face and tried hard not to look starstruck while you gave her directions - a grimey ass dude would walk by smelling like ass and wet towels. All of a sudden she ain't hungry and you ain't fantasizing about her inviting you up to her room after dinner because you're both trying desperately not to gag.
Sometimes the same person that turned you on turned you off. An attractive guest with a sour attitude. A beautiful singer that asked for the royal treatment, but didn't tip the room service guy, the dog walker, not even the staff in the bar after they shut the place down to the public so she could have an unscheduled "private party."
Or maybe a hot older lady would talk to you while she waited for the rest of her party to show up. Even though she was beautiful and had a great personality you wanted to get out of the conversation. Why? Because her boobs were huge, but the boob job was botched. You're dick didn't know if it should stand at attention or hang his head. Not that you minded fake tits (you were at the strip club the night before - silicone was your friend), it's just that there was too much implant and not enough skin to cover all that new boob. You could see the implant because the skin on the titties was too tight, so tight that it looked like the throbbing veins around them were supporting all the silicone. Mesmerizing, but not cool.
Sometimes the cosmos would all align just right. Some girl would come out and keep her smoker friends company. She might give you the "it's okay to talk to me" look and you'd walk over. You'd notice the tattoo on her leg and that gave you an in to a conversation. Maybe you'd find that you had tons in common and she'd tell you that you're great and that she's never met a guy that could make her laugh some many times within the first 10 minutes of meeting them. Then she'd throw you one of the nastiest curveballs ever by giving you her valet ticket and saying "can you bring up my fiancee's car? We're leaving in about fifteen minutes."
But most of the time you'd keep your mouth shut and nothing memorable would happen.
